


The Second First Game

by AuthorToBeNamedLater



Series: Keeping Up With The Raptors [18]
Category: No Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, Alternate Universe - Sports, Bromance, Colorado Avalanche, Gen, Hockey, Humor, National Hockey League, Raptors, Seattle, Sports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-17
Updated: 2013-10-17
Packaged: 2017-12-29 15:43:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1007172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuthorToBeNamedLater/pseuds/AuthorToBeNamedLater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mark comes back to hockey and Ronny leaves his contacts in the hotel. Funnier than it sounds. I hope.</p><p>You will want to read at least "Man Down" before reading this. </p><p>Semyon Varlamov really is the goalie for the Colorado Avalanche.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Second First Game

**Author's Note:**

> I'm pretty sure nothing like this would ever happen in an NHL dressing room. Enjoy my dramatic license.

It had been a little over two months since Mark Shearer had found himself twitching on the ice in Edmonton, his rookie season nearly ended before it began. Mark had endured weeks of headaches, fatigue, nausea, and anxiety, and then a litany of cognition and conditioning tests. Now, on December 15, he was finally ready for game action again.

Mark was excited, and scared out of his mind, as he readied himself in the dressing room at Boeing Arena. No matter how well practices had gone, how many games he'd watched from the press box, or how much of a pep talk Coach had given him, the fact was Mark hadn't played hockey in nearly ten weeks. Tonight was his second game in theory, but in reality it was his first.

“Aw, crap!”

The frustrated exclamation cut through the dressing room chatter. Mark looked up.

“What is it?” Sandy asked.

“I left my contacts in the hotel room!” Andor answered.

“I'm sure Brad can get them back,” Sandy said, referring to Brad Franson, the Raptors' traveling secretary.

“In time for the game?” Jones asked.

“Probably not,” Sandy conceded.

“Just wear your glasses,” Hank advised.

“Is that even allowed?” Mark wondered.

“No,” Andor refused. As if to make his point, he folded his rimless glasses and put them in his bag. “I'll just go without.”

“You can't do that!” Hank said.

“Yes I can.” Andor pulled his sweater over his head. “I could play this game blindfolded.”

Hank took out his phone, typed something in, and put it back in his stall.

A few seconds later Andor's phone chirped. He dug it out of his bag, held it at arm's length, and then gave it to Gunnar. “Norgie, can you read this?”

The Raptors' backup goalie, halfway into his gear, took the phone. “'If you need glasses to read this, you need glasses to play hockey.'” He handed the phone back to the Raptors' eldest member.

Andor shot Hank a death glare. Mark watched the exchange, a little bewildered.

“Wear the glasses, Ron,” Hank insisted. He stuck his hand in Andor's bag and pulled out the spectacles.

“No!”

“You need to--”

“No way.”

“You're blind as a bat!”

“I am _not_ \--”

Mikey Palmer, fresh from the trainers' room, looked back and forth between his teammates. “Wow, how long have you two been married?” He asked dryly.

“Seven years,” Hank and Andor answered in unison.

Mikey snorted a laugh and went over to his stall.

“They'll fall off,” Andor said. “I don't have a strap.”

“I can take care of that,” Doc said, efficiently plucking the glasses out of Hank's hand. She pulled out a roll of sports tape and set to work fashioning a strap for Andor's glasses, winding the tape around itself.

“Just walking in here like that?” Mikey said. “We could all be naked for all you know!”

“Bite me,” Doc told the Raptors' resident wise guy. She handed the glasses back to Andor. “There. See if that fits.”

Andor skeptically put on the glasses, fitting Doc's handiwork around his head. “Not bad,” he conceded.

“My brother used to do that,” Doc said, obviously pleased with herself. She headed back to the trainers' room.

“Hey Ronny,” Josh Bernier pulled his phone out of his stall.

When Andor turned around, Josh snapped a picture. Andor lunged for the phone but Josh jerked it out of the way.

“Ronny, just wear the glasses,” Hank said. “I guarantee nobody will even notice.”

.

.

.

Jake Wheeler and Don Obenshain sat in the broadcast booth at Boeing Arena, silently watching as a seventh-grader from a local private school sang “The Star-Spangled Banner.”

The camera focused on Andor Ronningen. Obenshain squinted, hit the mute button and looked at Wheeler. “Is he wearing glasses?”

Andor was indeed wearing glasses. And he didn't look too happy about it.

Obenshain considered chuckling during the national anthem rather gauche, but it sure was hard to avoid right here.

.

.

.

“Hey, can you see all right there, four-eyes?”

Andor pivoted around to back up into his own zone and sent a dirty look at the Av who'd chirped at him. Andor sent the puck across the ice to Hank and let the other defenseman carry it into Colorado's zone.

Fred Gordon, who'd played with Andor on the Hurricanes, ran headlong into his old teammate as Ronny crossed the Avalanche's blue line. “What's up, Ronny? Didn't see me?” The other player cracked, standing up from the ice.

“Shut up, Gordo,” Andor grumbled as he righted himself and charged into the offensive zone.

Mikey fired a shot at Colorado's net that got sent back up ice into the neutral zone. LaJeunesse called for a change and Andor followed Hank to the bench.

“Nobody's gonna notice, huh?” Andor yelled over the crowd noise as he and Hank sat down.

Hank just started laughing.

“I'm never wearing these damned things again!” Andor declared while Hank doubled over on the dasher in laughter.

.

.

.

“It seems Ronny's getting all kinds of love from Hank Sheridan on the bench there,” Wheeler observed. Andor was shouting something at his D partner while Hank beat the dasher laughing.

.

.

.

Mark gave a sidelong look at his teammates—the disgruntled Ronny and howling Hank—and felt himself smile a little. Somehow the levity eased his nerves.

.

.

.

By the time the Raptors got to the dressing room for first intermission, the game in a scoreless deadlock, everyone was having entirely too much fun at Andor Ronningen's expense.

“You look like a Hanson brother,” Ugur Bozkurt reported, referring to the goons from the hockey cult film _Slap Shot._

“Hey, where's Ronny?” Brad Franson, the Raptors' traveling secretary, scurried into the locker room. Brad was a tall, gangly, awkward-but-kind-looking man with limp dark hair. He gave off the air of someone obsessed with details—and considering his line of work, this was a very good thing.

“Over here,” Ronny answered.

Brad approached Ronny and held out a blue plastic case. “Your contacts.”

Ronny took the case. “Thank God.” He headed for the restroom.

.

.

.

“D-to-D to Rybar,” Wheeler announced while the clock ticked towards the halfway point of the game. “He's gonna send it forward to Cibulka who'll give it to Shearer. Shearer sends it back to Cibulka—one timer, save Varlamov—rebound, Shearer—it hit the post!” Wheeler exclaimed as a _clang_ resounded through the arena and the fans let out an _ooooh_. “And that one's going to go up and out of play.”

“They say you never have to do the first game again,” Obenshain commented while the teams and officials regrouped. The camera showed Ricky Traynor saying something to Mark, who laughed in return. “But Mark Shearer in a way does have to play his first game all over again. He only played half of one shift before he went down, so this is kind of like his second first game.”

“He almost had a first goal there,” Wheeler remarked.

.

.

.

Mark finished off the night with an even rating, no goals, no assists, and two shots—the post didn't count, even if it was as close as he came to an actual goal. The rest of the team hadn't done much more, as their sleepy effort resulted in a 1-0 defeat.

“It felt nice to be back,” Mark told the horde of reporters gathered around him in the dressing room. “I mean, it would have felt better to win but...” he shrugged. “It's good. It's good to be playing again.”

“Were you nervous?” A bald man from CBS Sports asked.

“A little,” Mark admitted. “Went away once the game got underway, though.” He thought it best not to mention the hoopla over Ronny's glasses.

Having gotten what they needed out of Mark, the reporters moved to Janko. Mark sat down on the bench and ran a hand through his hair, still damp from his post-game shower, and bent over to tie his sneaker.

 _Bad idea. Very bad idea._ Pain shot up Mark's hamstring and he winced.

“You OK there, kiddo?”

Mark lifted his head and saw Hank standing over him, wearing that curious/concerned look of his. “Yeah.” Mark sat up carefully. “I'm, ah...I'm just sore.” He was sore, he realized, all over.

Hank gave an understanding smile. “You will be for awhile. Go see Doc, she can probably give you a rub down.”

Mark nodded. He was tired, too. Much more tired than he should be.

“How long did it take you to feel right again?” Mark lifted his foot onto the bench and tried tying his shoe that way. His muscles were stiffening up fast. A visit to Doc sounded better and better. “After your skull fracture.”

“Well, I was out for a year,” Hank said. “Took me almost another year to get back to where I was. It takes time to bounce back after you've been out for awhile.”

Mark bit his lip and nodded.

“Hey.” Hank gave Mark a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Go see Doc, go home, take some ibuprofen and get some sleep.”

“I don't think I have any ibuprofen,” Mark mused.

“You wanna be a hockey player, Mark?”

“Um, yeah?”

Hank smiled. “Stock up.”

Mark laughed.

“You did really well tonight,” Hank said.

Mark felt a little thrill of joy and embarrassment at the praise from his captain. “Thanks.”

“And you'll never have to play your second first game again.” Hank said, and turned to talk with a reporter.

Mark breathed a sigh of relief. It had taken two months longer than it should, but his first NHL game was finally behind him.

And provided he could stay away from big angry men named Vlad Klyukin, Mark knew he had many more NHL games ahead.


End file.
